Pegasus in Flight

by Anne McCaffrey

  Peter nodded his head. “She’s the director here.”

  “Not Sascha?”

  Peter shook his head, grinning. “Sascha’s the deputy chief. He takes over when Rhyssa’s involved with someone. Like me! I’m her special project—” He broke off, blinking his eyes rapidly, and flashed a quick, almost apologetic glance at Dorotea before he grinned. “Rhyssa has lots of special duties, being the director. I’m not the only one.”

  Tirla noticed that his cheeks flamed briefly. What could embarrass a boy like Peter? Then Dorotea was passing plates with freshly cooked eggs and bacon and urging Tirla to sample the hot toast. Tirla ate until she was stuffed. She thanked Dorotea profusely for the effort of handcooking.

  “I enjoy it,” Dorotea replied, smiling gently. “Especially for appreciative appetites. Peter, why don’t you take Tirla to the study and log her in? You’ve got to go through some assessments first, honey, but once your standard’s been decided, you’ll be expected to be present for all the classes you’re assigned.”

  Tirla nodded briefly, far more interested in the way Peter got down from his chair—indeed he did glide as he conducted her to the study, and the curious fluidity of his movements fascinated her.

  “And you aren’t really walking?” she asked.

  “Nope, it’s all kinetic. My spinal cord got severed when the wall fell on me. Medical science can’t splice that—yet—but kinetic science gives me movement. Better’n being stuck in a support chair,” he assured her blithely. “Here’s your terminal, and here’re your earplugs. I’ve got to do my hours with Teacher, too. Can’t slip out of that with kinesis!” He made a face as she slid into the chair he indicated. When she had slipped the plugs into her ears, he typed a sequence with an odd finger movement, and suddenly the blank screen cleared.

  “Tirla Tunnelle, may I, as your personal Teacher, welcome you to this Educational Program.” The screen showed the School Room and a pleasant-faced woman seated at the desk. Tirla knew that the Teacher was a construct, devised to reproduce the old teacher-pupil confrontation, but she had always liked the look of Teacher; someone a person could trust, who would not laugh at questions or honest mistakes, who was there to help one learn. “Sascha Roznine told us that you have had some credits under the name of Kail, Linear G resident, Flat 8732a. Today, if you will bear with me, Tirla, we will just see how much of those early lessons you remember. Now, shall we begin? If you need to be refreshed about the function keys, please type H for help. Or, if you’re ready to begin, strike RETURN, and we’ll begin the assessment.”

  With conflicting emotions—awe at realizing a long-held dream and fear that the miracle might be withdrawn for some capricious reason—Tirla touched RETURN.

  “I think,” Dorotea began, drumming her fingers rapidly on the kitchen table, “Tirla is going into an education-overkill phase. She won’t leave the terminal, though Peter has been as slyly devious as you, Sascha, in getting her outside. I also think she finds the grounds daunting instead of pleasant. She sticks to the paths and won’t use the playground facilities. But all this study and no play is not an improvement.”

  Don Usenik, who had joined the informal meeting as medical advisor, shook his head, mildly amused by Dorotea’s fervor. “According to the medical reports, she’s in excellent shape. Amazingly so when you consider the conditions under which she’s lived.”

  “Well, I think it’s wrong for a child her age to try and absorb two years’ education in four days, Dorotea maintained.

  “Any improvement in receptivity?” Rhyssa asked.

  “What does Peter say?” Dorotea countered with some heat.

  Rhyssa laughed. “Peter thinks she could if she would. When she’s involved in her studying, he can hear an ongoing mental commentary. She has amazing retentive powers, visual as well as auditory. She’s answered him telepathically once or twice when she didn’t realize it.”

  “We have got to make her aware of her potential,” Sascha said, frustrated.

  Rhyssa leaned across the table. “It will take time, Sascha. There’s no need to force scope to her Talent.”

  “Boris would like a hundred more like her,” Sascha said, frowning.

  “But I thought you and Boris had found the Jerhattan child,” Rhyssa said, having followed his thought. She did not like what she read: that Boris wanted Tirla to work undercover with Cass.

  “Oh, we found and rescued her all right enough,” Sascha replied with no sense of achievement, “and two others, but there were no leads whatever of any use. Only a minor ladrone who reports by phone—another of those conveniently illegal connects. So a dead end. The girls could tell us nothing; they had been gassed, blindfolded, stuck in some sort of smooth plastic cocoon. Their trauma went pretty deep.”

  “The psychological scarring of their incarceration is going to be difficult to neutralize,” Don remarked, frowning. “A new wrinkle in rendering the abducted docile—tactile disorientation. Villainous trick.” He shook his head. “You and Peter are off today, aren’t you? So that leaves Dorotea and me to come up with some brilliant ideas on sharpening up the Tests, huh?”

  “And me,” Sascha said, coming out of his gloom. “I am after all, director of training for this Center. The trouble with a unique like Tirla is that she doesn’t realize she’s got Talent in the first place. And in the second, how can you test children that aren’t supposed to exist?”

  “What training have you planned for Tirla then?” Rhyssa said.

  Sascha shrugged. “Training? She’s a natural at what she does—getting into the communication center of anyone’s brain and adapting to whatever language they’re using.” He spread his hands wide. “How can we improve on that? And she can’t explain any more than Peter can explain how he does what he does.”

  “I’d do it myself, but I hate crowds and I can’t walk far,” Dorotea said suddenly, “but Sascha, why don’t you start by hauling her away from Teacher for an afternoon? Those issue shoes are useless, and while she might feel happy in subsistence issue, I would like to see her dressed in something nicer. Several something nicers.”

  “Me?” Sascha glanced first at Dorotea and then at Rhyssa and pretended not to see Don’s amused expression.

  “You!” Dorotea pointed a stern finger at him. “She trusts you.”

  “But I’ve never bought clothes for a kid.”

  “No need to panic,” Dorotea replied unfeelingly. “I’m sure Tirla knows what she’d be comfortable wearing, and that’s all you need to go by. She’s still a trifle young to want to bedeck herself alluringly.”

  Wanna bet? Rhyssa said in a tight aside to Dorotea, who gave her an unfathomable glance without betraying a mental explanation.

  “Take her to one of the good malls. Let her see how the other half lives—the one she’s inhabiting now,” Dorotea went on. “And then treat her to something tooth-rottening and utterly satiating. Spoil her a bit. Show her there’s more to life on this level than a square box and a wrist ID.”

  “She might know of other kids with unusual aptitudes,” Rhyssa added. “She doesn’t miss much.”

  “That’s for sure,” Sascha replied heartily. “Your heli just landed, Rhyssa. I’ll just see you all off.”

  “Peter!” Rhyssa called. “Dave and Johnny are on their way. Are you all packed?”

  Dorotea snorted. “He’s been ready since before you thought of the—” She paused and grinned wickedly. “—distraction.”

  “I’m coming,” Peter called. He glided to Tirla’s room. “I’ll see you,” he told her. “Keep clocking in the study time.”

  She hit the HOLD and regarded him in surprise. “You going somewhere?”

  Peter grinned mischievously. “Rhyssa’s got a job for me.” He winked.

  “Job? For you?”

  “Sure. I’m very useful, I’ll have you know.”

  Tirla gave him a long disbelieving look. “Doing what?”

  “More of what I’m good at.”

  Tirla gave him a l
ook of profound disbelief. “What could you be good at?”

  Peter made a clicking sound in his mouth, since he could not snap his fingers. “I just wish I could tell you, Tirla. But it’s a professional secret.”

  “So don’t tell me. I got better things to do than guess secrets!” Tirla turned back to the monitor.

  “But I’ll be gone weeks.”

  Tirla wriggled her fingers at him over her shoulder. “Have a good time,” she said, keeping her eyes on the screen. The Teacher on hold had her mouth open and hand half-raised as she was making a particular point in the lesson. Tirla tried to resume her studying, but the truth of the matter, though she could not let on to Peter, was that she would miss him. Weeks?

  He was the first boy she had ever met who had some sense. She knew he was supposed to be a very clever kinetic—he had talked to her about thought transfer and telepathy, which made her a bit nervous—but he had also been good about helping her with some of the harder problems Teacher set her. At least Sascha would be around. She would not like Sascha to be gone for weeks.

  She was surprised to have her lesson interrupted a second time—and by Sascha.

  “Tirla! Have you stirred out of this room today?”

  “No,” she said, tapping out the answer to the problem on the screen.

  “Tirla! Turn that damned thing off! We’ve got something better to do with the afternoon.”

  She rolled over on her side to look up at him.

  “What?”

  “Buy you some new shoes and clothes.”

  Tirla looked down at the toes that were visible through the latest cracks in her footwear. “I did try to find the issue slot, but Dorotea doesn’t have one.”

  Sascha hunkered down and firmly punched the Off switch.

  “Hey!” Tirla regarded him with astonishment that quickly turned to antagonism. She reached for the switch, and he caught her hand.

  “You can pick up where you left off when we get back. On your feet!” Sascha gave her hand a warning pull. “We don’t have issue slots at the Center. Generally we get ordinary stuff from the Remote Mall, but as I haven’t a notion of your shoe size or what colors you like, I think this once, we’ll go in the flesh. When we’re done, we’re going to have a treat.”

  That got Tirla’s interest. She bounced to her feet, her black eyes sparkling. “What kind of treat?”

  “That’ll be entirely up to you, my dear,” he said, leading the way to the transport lot. “In our malls there’s a lot to choose from,” he added in a provocative tone.

  Whatever misgivings Sascha might have entertained about shopping for a child were swiftly compounded. First Tirla had to recover from her initial shock at the size of the mall that Sascha had chosen. Then she led him a dance through every department of the twelve-story complex, eyes and head constantly on the move as she did an initial reconnaissance.

  Back on the first floor, she mused at length over the various items that had caught her attention the first time and then began a second tar. On the fourth level, fortunately the one dealing with shoes and apparel for young people, the sole of one shoe disintegrated—“From the heat of the speed at which she was traveling,” Sascha told Dorotea later.

  When an officious floor walker moved in on Tirla with the obvious intent of removing the waif from the elegant premises, Sascha intercepted him.

  “I wouldn’t,” Sascha said in a low voice, pushing out his sleeve so the special design of his wrist ID was visible. “I’m escorting her. Is she acceptable as a patron now?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir, but you must admit . . .”

  “That’s why we’re shopping.”

  The man walked quickly out of Sascha’s vicinity with several anxious backward glances.

  “You weren’t going to hex him, were you, Sascha?” an amused voice beside him asked.

  He turned to see Cass Cutler grinning up at him. “If I could, I’d put a hurry one on Tirla,” he said. “We went through all twelve levels of this place like a dose of salts, and now she’s settling down for a second tour.”

  Cass laughed at his discomfort. “And they sent you out on your own with your protégée?” She laughed again. “That’s unkind.”

  “It’s supposed to be mutually instructive.”

  Tirla reappeared and latched onto Sascha’s hand, regarding Cass very narrowly from her suddenly inscrutable eyes.

  “I remember you,” Cass said. “You ricocheted off me and my partner at Linear G. And you messed up Flimflam’s scam to a fare-thee-well. My congratulations!”

  “You’re one of him,” Tirla accused, jerking her head toward Sascha.

  Cass laughed again, a throaty, genuine laugh. Sascha could feel Tirla’s fingers relaxing. “Not quite, chip. We’re on the same side, but right now I’m assigned to LEO, crowd control.”

  Tirla looked about her, slightly contemptuous. “Not much of a crowd here today.”

  “I’m not on duty today,” Cass replied, grinning down at Tirla. “I see you’re on a day off, too. What’ve you found that appeals to you?”

  Will you help me, Cass? Please say yes! Sascha pleaded. I’ve a hideous presentiment that that child intends to case the entire mall again before she’ll even try something on.

  “If you don’t mind me saying it, Tirla, you’ll be able to walk further with a decent pair of shoes on your feet. There’re some good bargains to be had right now. What strikes your fancy?”

  With a sense of reprieve, Sascha followed Cass and Tirla to the shoe department. An hour later, after two harried human clerks had replaced the mechanical fitter, Tirla’s small, narrow, and very dainty feet ended up in soft purple leather boots, in the only pair that would fit her feet.

  Totally unsuitable for a child, of course, Cass said, but they do fit.

  And she adores them! Sascha saw how Tirla’s face glowed as she strutted from mirror to mirror, regarding her feet.

  “Mr. Roznine,” the head clerk said wearily as the docket spun out of the teller machine, “your young companion has a most delicate and unusual foot to fit. May I recommend this concern? They do very fine custom work.”

  Sascha read the man easily and caught the unspoken message: “So we won’t have to go through this again.” But he was just as grateful to take the card, which could be inserted in Dorotea’s mall machine for home shopping.

  He blessed Cass with every new purchase, for the woman actually seemed to enjoy the looking, the trying, and the endless discussions of fit, style, and color.

  “The concept of having unlimited funds to spend is foreign to the child, Sascha,” Cass said at one point, “but you must admit that she knows what suits her.”

  Tirla was modeling a one-piece outfit as different from subsistence issue as diamonds from rhinestones. The main color was a soft blue with purple accents in seam-stitching, pocket trim, and fasteners. Once Tirla found that outfit to her taste and Sascha’s—it was always Sascha to whom she turned for approval—it took the combined efforts of both Sascha and Cass to get her to buy additional clothing.

  “Why do I need more? I’ve boots, and this material’s hard wearing. It’ll do for weeks. Even if I had to catch freights again,” Tirla added, peering mischieviously up at Sascha.

  He had to chuckle at her impudence. “It’s a fetching outfit, Tirla, there’s no question of it. But even Teacher will get tired of seeing you in it.”

  Tirla gave him a long hard look. “Teacher doesn’t see me.”

  “No, but Dorotea and I do, so do Sirikit, Budworth, Don, and Peter, and Rhyssa. You never see them wearing the same clothes two days in a row.”

  “Oh, they have lots of clothes. Dorotea has closets full.” Tirla did not sound envious—if anything her tone was slightly censorious, as if she felt it was improper for people to have so many things to wear.

  “A few changes are in order,” Cass said. “I’ve got quite a few myself,” she added encouragingly while Tirla merely stared back, her hands plunged into the deep pockets a
nd her shoulders hunched under the smooth fabric.

  “This isn’t coming out of your floaters, Tirla,” Sascha began, suddenly realizing what might be causing her hesitation. “Dorotea and Rhyssa want you to be suitably dressed now that you’re a Talent. You’re not a subbie anymore, you know.” He pointed to her wrist ID.

  “Oh.” There was look of surprised wonderment on the girl’s face as she regarded her bracelet with dawning comprehension. “Is that why those salespersons were so nice to me?”

  “Quite likely,” Cass said in a dry tone of voice. “Everyone in malls like these recognizes the distinctive pattern.”

  Tirla twirled hers on her fragile wrist. “They do?”

  She settled the band outside the cuff of her new clothes. “How much can I buy with just this?”

  Sascha disguised a choke of dismay with a cough just as Cass caught him in the ribs with her elbow.

  “Let’s find out, shall we, chip?” Cass asked cheerfully and held out her hand.

  Tirla took it readily enough, but her other hand immediately sought Saseha’s, and then she was dragging them after her toward a rack of brilliantly colored trousers.

  She was not as profligate as Sascha feared, but she ended up with “something different to wear every day of the week.” Then Sascha made good his promise of a treat, inviting Cass to join them in the Old-Fashioned Parlor of Gastronomical Confections and Irresistible Desserts.

  Tirla managed to get through three immense, rich concoctions that Sascha privately thought revolting.

  Cass: Let her enjoy, Sascha. Ice cream is something she’s only heard about.

  Sascha: What if she comes home sick? Dorotea will skin me alive.

  Cass: This child has an iron constitution if she’s survived subbie slop until now. And look at how much pleasure she’s having.

  Sascha, groaning: I’ll be sick!

  It was then that Tirla realized there were other girls and boys enjoying the parlor. Her spoon on automatic, she took full note of the other youngsters.

  That blonde ought never to wear bright colors. She’d look better in pastel shades. Boy, what’s he wearing such tight pants for? He’ll squeeze ’em dry. Now that red outfit might look good on me. Maybe I can get something like that next time Sascha wants to spend money.